western blues.

bo arlington. 26. both pain and fear, - until we recognize a grandeur in the beatings of the heart.

[kohei-sei]

“The thought that you exist is so divinely blissful in itself that it is ridiculous to talk about the everyday sadness of separation—a week’s, ten days’—what does it matter? since my whole life belongs to you. I wake at night and know that you are together with me,—I sense your sweet long legs, your neck through your hair, your trembling eyelashes—and then such happiness, such simmering bliss follows me in my dreams that I simply suffocate …”

— Vladimir Nabokov, in a letter to his wife Véra (1925), Letters to Véra

[soracities]

“Reading a book is like re-writing it for yourself. You bring to a novel, anything you read, all your experience of the world. You bring your history and you read it in your own terms.”

— Angela Carter (b. 7 May1940)

[valtsv]

the inherent homoeroticism of calling someone “my dear”

[valtsv]

“my dear” “darling” “my love” alright you gay bitch

[boutonniered-blog]

(( in the time that tumblr died i fucking revived my ao3 account. my mind

[soothingmask1]

“A lover doesn’t discourage your growth. A lover says, ‘I see who you are today, I cannot wait to see who you become tomorrow.’”

[antigonies]

No offence but without tenderness we are in hell

[soracities]

“What will survive of us is love.”

— Philip Larkin,  from ‘An Arundel Tomb’, The Whitsun Weddings

[pigmenting]

something i wish i had realized earlier: you can write poems on the same subject more than once. you can write, paint, draw the same thing over and over if you want to. you can spend your whole life making art about oranges. i think i always felt this pressure to get it right the first time like i couldn’t go back and use that inspiration again. but you can. you can go back and revisit it. you can pick up the conversation again and again if you have more to say.

[dirbyagnesvarda]

When I Grow Up I Want to Be a List of Further Possibilities, Chen Chen

[lifeinpoetry]

We should hold each other more while we are still alive, even if it hurts. People really die of loneliness, skin hunger the doctors call it. In a study on love, baby monkeys were given a choice between a wire mother with milk & a wool mother with none. Like them, I would choose to starve & hold the soft body.

— Robin Beth Schaer, from “Holdfast,” published in Poem-a-Day

[soracities]

“I would have loved him in any era, in any dark age; I would take him into the twilight and unwind him, slide my fingers through his hair and pull him to his knees. As it is, this afternoon, late in the twentieth century, I sit on a chair in the kitchen with my keys in my lap, pressing the black button on the answering machine over and over, listening to his message, his voice strung along the wires outside my window where the birds balance themselves and stare off into the trees, thinking even in the farthest future, in the most distant universe, I would have recognized this voice, refracted, as it would be, like light from a small, uncharted star.”

— Dorianne Laux, from ‘As It Is’, What We Carry: Poems

[soracities]

“I open the bedroom door. The curtains stir. There you are / on the bed, like a gift, like a touchable dream.”

— Carol Ann Duffy, from ‘You’, Rapture

[hollowforrest]

Komako Sakai

[salemwitchtrials-deactivated202]

Sometimes u just have to read a Mary Oliver poem & hope to god u will survive the week

[yafictionquotes]

[aearthetic]

Renaissance and Ironmen.

[lohver]

today my prof said to my class “you don’t truly love someone until they’ve hurt you and you still think of them as the greatest person in the world. Love is the most violent act.” ok ok ok

[lesbiankermit-moved]

men are so fucking weird and scary? don’t let any man ever convince you love is supposed to be painful or violent. don’t let any man justify his wrongful actions by saying they’re just part of what True Love is.